Live review, photos - Big Day Out, Melbourne 2011

Big Day Out
Flemington Showgrounds, Melbourne
Sunday 30th January 2011

by Marcus T and Doug Wallen

M: Something changed a little this year for me at the Big Day Out: a flame was rekindled.

The facts would suggest the opposite -  the subtle parry of 52,000 humans rubbing up against one's person; inescapable sound; an aging alternarock heavy line-up on the main stages; the awful food and apocalyptic temperatures. But something clicked for me this year. The main stage D-barrier set up has far outlived its era in most ways, but it does set up a divide - it splits the festival in two. You can participate the main arena with its smoke and mirrors, dry expanse and enormous beer barn, or you can retreat to the flip-side, pinballing between grassy areas, stalls and smaller stages. All of which hold a constant stream of bands whom would be headliners on any other line-up. And finally, after a huge influx of boutique festivals over the past decade or so, the sheer organisation of the the Big Day Out this year, despite its mass scale, came as hugely refreshing. Weird. Upon entrance I walk by a girl vomiting, an unconcious long-haired guy with studded leather wrist bracelets being carried out the gates by his friends, and have a lit cigarette jammed into my bare knee. Oh Big Day Out. How could I have forsaken thee?

D: Miscast in the 11am slot on the Green Stage, only a tiny crowd got to see local garage-pop duo Super Wild Horses, who have never been tighter or steelier. I’m only able to catch the last few songs, including the newish closer ‘Waikiki Romance’, but I would have loved to see this band play the exact same set in front of a big crowd. Over, then, to catch the end of The Vines, who I find midway through a meaty rock cover of OutKast’s 'Ms. Jackson'. Not long after comes 'Get Free', the first of many songs through the day that make me question just what year it is. Needless to say, the crowd goes wild, and Craig Nicholls smashes his guitar during the big breakdown (naturally). Cool in theory, but before midday it reads as desperate.

Little Red are as affable as ever, despite bright pink sunburn on frontmen Tom Hartney and Dominic Byrne, the latter of whom sports a frizzled, dyed blonde hairdo. Tracks from Midnight Remember flow freely, from ‘Slow Motion’ to ‘In My Bed’ to the horn section-assisted ‘Place Called Love’. We all know what to expect from these guys by now: glossy pop that’s big on harmonies. I don’t stay long enough to catch ‘Rock It’. Another young Aussie band that’s evolved from lightweight punchy indie pop to lightweight mainstream anthems – not necessarily for the worse – Operator Please plays like far-flung offspring of Madonna and new wave. They debut a catchy new song, ‘Gold’, and follow it with a cover of Kelis’s ‘Milkshake’ that transforms into N.E.R.D.’s ‘She Wants to Move’. A rendition of the band’s old hit ‘Just A Song About Ping Pong’ confirms the extent of their electro-pop makeover. Last year’s single ‘Logic’ still makes me think of ‘She Blinded Me With Science’ however.

Over in the blissfully shaded Lilyworld, Magic Dirt auxiliary member Matt Sonic and his band The High Times – which, in full disclosure, my mate drums for – crank out heavy rock that’s too focused and free of digressions to qualify entirely as ‘stoner’. A total throwback, and one of several today (see also: Wolfmother, The Greenhornes, Little Red, Jim Jones Revue). As with Super Wild Horses, this set deserves more people to witness it, although the punters up front rock out accordingly. Elsewhere, best known these days as half of Jack White’s The Saboteurs, The Greenhornes ply dutiful retro garage as a smoke machine churns. Highlights include ‘Too Much Sorrow’ and a Nord-licked psych number sung by bassist Jack Lawrence. Jim Jones Revue, meanwhile, have their old-school rockabilly/garage showmanship nailed, but despite the intensity they have going for them, it’s not at all what I’m in the mood for.

Party-starting Brazilian band CSS make use of their slot far better than most bands of the day, radiating a jittery momentum. Singer Lovefoxxx dismantles her costume during the first song – revealing shorts modelled on the U.S. flag and a midriff singlet sporting the phrase "ay que horror" (“oh how awful”) – and is in the crowd by the second and crowd-surfing by the third. Four of the six members are female, and all of them beam with joy. Older anthems like ‘Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above’ (think Chic meets ‘The Hustle’) and Music is My Hot Hot Sex’ feel urgent rather than dated, and Lovefoxxx sings an entire verse and chorus of the former while crowd-surfing.

A surprise joy manifests in Boomgates, whom I had forgotten consists of Eddy Current Suppression Ring vocalist Brendan Huntley, Dick Diver’s Steph Hughes, and members of the Twerps and other locals. Combining the jangle of underground pop with the bristle of garage rock, the band knocks out clever, catchy, ramshackle tunes that leave me reeling. Huntley has his usual harried stage presence, but his vocals are more like actual singing than in ECSR and he dabbles in melodica, keyboards, and bells. Usually a drummer, Hughes is great up front, singing duets and playing guitar. My favourites are ‘Nothing’, ‘Layman’s Terms’, and the hard-driving last song. Can’t wait for an album from these guys. Always a kick in the pants, The UV Race tear up Lilyworld led by unpredictable singer Marcus Rechsteiner, clad in just a Speedo. With his Stooges-indebted proto-punk outfit behind him, Rechsteiner delivers bullish caveman sentiments like the familiar ‘Girl in My Bed’ and a song possibly called ‘I Need Your Potion’. He also singles out a few girls in the audience, some of whom wind up dancing on stage. One slaps his barely covered backside repeatedly. The UV Race: never dull.

M: I watch Andrew W.K in perplexed wonder. The man and his band of metal dudes - four guitarists across the stage, for one - play their party-metal-pop with scant regard for the sweltering conditions. I check to see if the hair on the back of my legs are smoking in the sun. Not yet. Who would have suspected that a subversive Cape Town hip-hop act that's big on dick jokes and scribbled artwork would unearth a new hairstyle? And be this year's buzz band? Die Antwoord verily tap into the day's adrenaline stocks early, with a set in the Boiler Room that's big on posturing, taunts and microphone penises. Beyond perhaps their opening number in the freely ridiculous 'Enter the Ninja', which goes down a storm, there's not a lot in the way of actual hits here. It doesn't seem to matter, especially by the time the band is asking the crowd to sing along with "Your Ma's a puss in a fish paste jar". OK. Somehow mashing together the "best" bits of eurotrash rave-ups and a minimalist, character-flipping rhyming style that, at its best, can recall the Anticon stable and the funner moments of Eminem, front-people Ninja and Yo-Landi Vi$$er are hugely entertaining. Postmodern anarchy.

D: I only catch a bit of Plan B, but that bit is the British multi-hyphenate and his full band’s self-professed “karaoke” medley. It begins with the Temptations’ ‘My Girl’, which becomes Ben E. King’s ‘Stand By Me’ but includes creepy guitar dissonance and beatboxing. Then it grows into Bill Withers’ ‘Ain’t No Sunsine’ and finally Seal’s ‘Kiss From A Rose’, an un-ironic favourite of mine that sadly descends into something like rap-rock. While sharp-dressed and all too tight and proficient, the act’s genre cherry-picking is lobbed too squarely at the masses to win me over. Having already unleashed his full-band set an hour prior, Andrew W.K. contrasts that with a loose, unplanned solo lark at Lilyworld. On just a keyboard, he starts with an obscure, unfinished cover before answering the inevitable requests for ‘Party Hard’. Then is a somewhat seedy take on the Christmas carol ‘Silent Night’ before a version of Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ that I don’t stay to see completed.

M: Only a recent convert to Crystal Castles' brand of busted noise-pop, it's interesting to see them in this brightly lit, summer context - the opposite to their hedonistic doomsday schtick. The band look ridiculous strolling (or in Alice Glass's broken-ankle state, wobbling) out on stage in leather jackets, hoodies and army coats, evidently attempting to stay in "outsider" character despite the oven conditions. Such calculated cool isn't the only thing that's rendered a little thin here. Despite having a live drummer on stage, the effects heavy set up sounds not at all unlike the more commercial synth-pop songs heard elsewhere in this tent today, most notably on the day's first actual mosh for 'Baptism'. That said, while the live drummer is inaudible and not a word of Glass's vocals make it through the mix, there's something transfixing about them all the same. Current hit cover song 'I'm Not In Love' closes the set, and the band hobble off with nary a wave, presumably to climb back in to their black bathers as quickly as possible.

D: Delayed 15 minutes by technical difficulties, Brooklyn keyboard-drums couple Matt & Kim make up it for with giddy enthusiasm. In fact, they resemble the manic hosts of a kids TV show. It’s goofy bubblegum punk, complete with balloons. A few fans sing to Matt for his birthday, before which Kim does a “sweaty booty dance” while fans hoist her aloft. Their antics may border on annoying, but they’re genuinely thrilled to be in Australia for the first time. Matt even shouts out Coopers. Detroit rapper/producer Black Milk acquits himself well despite his slot competing directly with The Stooges’. The sound of his live drummer, whose work shines on record, swallows Black Milk’s words somewhat, which is a shame. But his engaging, pointed brand of hip-hop – featuring a keyboardist and DJ – works well as counter-programming, with curious punters wandering in to see what’s up.

M: I order a "Chicken Schnitzel Wrap" from one of an array of deep fried food vending options. (C'mon organisers, would it be so hard to move into the modern era? Give us something unfried). It looks and tastes like  roadkill pressed between fossilised pita bread. Iggy Pop however, looks fantastic from a distance, also pre-historic up close on the screen. Clive James once called Arnold Schwarzenegger's body as looking like "a condom full of walnuts". Iggy replaces the nuts with curdled milk. That's OK, as he skips and mugs and minces around the stage like a puppy. Stooges bassist Mike Watt rocks out low on stage, eyes on the singer, while drummer Scott Asheton, guitarist James Williamson and saxophonist Steve Mackay remain stoic and workmanlike throughout. The sound isn't great. Songs are only recognisable when the wind shifts in the right direction, and at one point it sounds like a monitor or amp is blown. Pop invites a crowd up on stage, the throng embrace him and from a distance it looks at least like the theatre of rock is healthy.

James Murphy has repeatedly said that this tour is LCD Soundsystem's last in its current incarnation, and lo' it's a crying shame. His crack band's dutiful summoning of live dance music is second to none, the eight piece group - featuring the excitable Al Doyle from Hot Chip on percussion and guitar - wandering around all manner of stage gadgets. They kick off with a huge take on This is Happening opener 'Dance Yrself Clean' which sparks a giant mosh, before spiralling into 'Drunk Girls', 'I Can Change' and 'Daft Punk Is Playing At My House'. Murphy seems genuinely thankful for the wild reaction to his band, telling the audience "This is our favourite one yet, so thankyou!". 'Tribulations' makes way for an extended 'Yeah', closing the set on a celebratory 45 minutes that arguably marks the current pinnacle in live dance music. Amazing and my highlight.

D: On the way to Primal Scream I catch long-running Japanese trio Red Bacteria Vacuum blasting out screamed punk torpedos to relatively few at Lilyworld. The all-girl band is overdriven and colourfully dressed, a compact assault on the senses. But Primal Scream doing Screamadelica? It’s like church. Bobby Gillespie seems as ageless as the landmark album, celebrating its 20th anniversary this year. A strict revisiting of any one record has the potential to be stale and limiting, but this is the opposite: wide open and wildly alive. Every player melts into the whole, and the songs come like tidal waves of euphoria and reflection. Above and beyond the highlight of my day, it’s also the first truly miraculous set I’ve witnessed this year.

Then, finally, is Grinderman, rivalling only Primal Scream for poise and power. I’m much more impressed by Nick Cave’s grotesque gypsy bacchanalia here than on record. Still, I’m pleased to hear ‘Mickey Mouse and the Goodbye Man’, ‘Worm Tamer’, ‘Get It On’, and ‘Heathen Child’. Cave has fun with his bent preacher persona, playing up to the crowd while Warren Ellis elicits chaotic noise from his guitar. And with ideal timing, I drift towards the train as the quartet plays the sublime ‘Palaces of Montezuma’, which Cave dubs their “little pop song.” That, my friends, is how you end a night.

M: With his shorn face and scarecrow limbs, Nick Cave looks like his 20-year-old-former-self from a distance. The man is active, prancing about the front few rows, taunting those closest (screaming "WHERE ARE YOUR SHOES?!" nose-to-nose at one point) and generally exuding more charisma than the entire line-up combined. All of which makes Tool look a little tame over on the main stage. They have, of course, a giant light-show consisting of heaving waves, green-blue fluids and exo-skeletons as per the usual, and it all looks enormously intimidating. So too their wandering tunes which, in this reviewer's opinion, aren't well-suited to a large field of people. Despite their visual slug, Tool's music is better ingested up close and on a one-to-one basis. I also observe, as the trio of musicians in Justin Chancellor, Danny Carey and Adam Jones bow and wave to the crowd at set's end (Maynard is nowhere to be seen), that a flailing Nick Cave, over on the small stage and armed with little more than a mic and a shirt undone to the navel, is the far more terrifying and engaging prospect.

Marcus T & Doug Wallen